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A shiver rolled down my spine.
“If you’re here? In my town?” His voice was close to a growl. “Then you are my problem.”
He finally released me from the trap of his presence by taking a step back. He pushed his fingers through the wavy, longer pieces of his hair, suddenly irritated. “Shut the door and lock it.”
I did as he said, unable to resist the weight of the command he’d given. I pushed the button on the fob, and the horn blipped and the lights flashed.
“Let’s go,” he grunted.
He started back toward the glare of headlights just up the path.
In confusion, I clambered along the rutted ground behind him. “Aren’t you going to put me in cuffs? Pat me down? Read me my rights?”
I had rights, didn’t I?
A phone call?
I almost laughed. Who the hell was I going to call?
“Do you want me to?” He tossed it out from over his shoulder as he trampled up the path.
“No.”
“I think we have an understanding then.”
The scoff of a laugh left me.
No, we most definitely didn’t have an understanding.
He opened the rear passenger door. “In you go.”
I obeyed because I really didn’t want him to put me in cuffs, even though he basically locked me in a cell with all the bars and plastic that were happening in the backseat.
He shut the door then climbed into the front. He put it into reverse, and the tires of the SUV spun and the engine revved as he backed into the high grasses before he shifted and headed back down what I’d been so sure was an invisible path.
He didn’t say anything as he drove us back down the bumpy trail. We finally hit a regular dirt road that went on for about a mile before we turned onto one that was two-lane and paved. From there, it took us about ten minutes to get into Time River.
A speck of nowhere in Colorado.
Except it was the one place where I’d had to come.
There didn’t seem to be a single car on any of the streets in the small town, the windowfronts of the shops and businesses darkened in the deep, slumbering night. We wound down Manchester, the main street that cut through and seemed to tie the entire community together.
The Sheriff slowed and made a left at one of the few stoplights, and a moment later we were pulling in front of a low-roofed brick building. Dingy lights covered the parking lot in a dull glow.
He parked in a reserved spot that said SHERIFF—one with a capital “S”.
Awesome.
Hot Cop was the Sheriff.
He killed the engine, and a second later, he opened my door and extended his hand to help me out.
I took it, my hand dominated in his massive grip, and I basically had to hop out of the elevated backseat and hold onto him for support. I landed on my feet, so close to him that I was inundated in a swath of his scent.
Pine and citrus and laundry detergent. So distinctly man that I inhaled on instinct. Letting him glide into my senses for the barest flash of a moment. And I wondered if I’d forced myself to go it alone for so long that my body was staging a revolt. Because on all things holy, I didn’t have reactions like this.
“Let’s get you inside.” He said it like he might be doing me a favor.
“Is camping out on someone’s property even a crime?” I grumbled as he began to guide me across the lot.
“I think you already know the answer to that,” he said, so cool and casual with his whiskey-scuffed voice.
The hand he guided me toward the front door with wasn’t quite touching the small of my back, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel the heat of it as he ushered me forward, his giant body lumbering along, all those hulking muscles flexing and bowing with each step.
He leaned around me to open the swinging-glass door, and I held my breath since I’d learned my lesson the last time he’d gotten too close.
Stay as far away from the hypnotizing effects of Hot Cop as possible.
I squinted as we stepped into the blinding lights of the Sheriff’s office, doing a cursory scan of the place. The lobby was furnished with a few plastic chairs and an artificial fern that sat next to a water cooler on the far-right wall. Ahead of us was a counter, and the chair behind it was vacant. The walls and floors were stark white and bare.
Super homey.
He guided me toward a door to the left of the counter. “This way.”
He punched in a code, and the door buzzed and popped open. It led into a big open room that had six desks. Only one was occupied, one at the far side where a woman who was probably in her early forties sat with a headset in front of a computer.
